


Infiltration and Penetration

by cadkitten



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Sherlock (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Frottage, Gunplay, M/M, No Lube, Prostitution, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 22:07:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1165103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/pseuds/cadkitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawkeye has been charged with keeping tabs on Moriarty for S.H.I.E.L.D. and eventually has to find his way into Moriarty's inner circle. His methods may be unorthodox, but they are certainly effective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Infiltration and Penetration

**Author's Note:**

  * For [groovyam](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=groovyam).



> From LCAD. Sherlock/12th Doctor OR Hawkeye/Moriarty Crossover  
> Beta Readers: sakura_ame  
> Song[s]: The Path Of Totality Album by Korn

Clint leaned against the side of the building, dark eyes following the suited figure pacing the office across from him. He felt fortunate that the entire office building had floor-to-ceiling windows installed, simply because it made his job easier. He just had to stand here and watch the man on the other side of the glass, then report back anything unusual to S.H.I.E.L.D. at the end of the day... or immediately if it became too much of a threat to global security.

He crossed his arms over his chest with a sigh, wishing things weren't quiet as cold as they were. While his outfit afforded a certain amount of warmth, it wasn't nearly enough to fight the chill out here and he didn't like the restriction of additional clothing when he was working. At least, he considered, his chest was warm with the bulletproof vest over the cotton t-shirt.

Once more, his eyes flicked to the man across the way and he crouched down, one hand steadying himself on the edge of the rooftop, the nearness to the edge not bothering him in the least. He was still surprised that this man had been targeted as such a large threat that he'd been sent in to monitor his actions. It seemed somehow out of the norm, for the man held no superpowers that he - or S.H.I.E.L.D. - knew of. But they had been watching him and his interaction with the internationally known Sherlock Holmes and after the latest incident, they had felt it necessary to send Clint in on it. His standing orders were to watch and infiltrate if necessary. No one was to know who he was or why he was there. Especially with the Avenger's Initiative scrapped, not enough people knew his face to place him for what he was. 

Piercing eyes followed Moriarty as he made his way across the office for what had to be the fiftieth time today. This time, the man stopped and pulled a picture away from the wall, revealing a safe. Just to be on the cautious side, Clint lifted his binoculars to his eyes and watched the combination as it was imputed, then observed the contents of the vault. A single Beretta 92FS Inox lay in the front, the magazine off to the side. He took note of the cleaning kit that lay just behind it. So he was careful... calculated, not just a casual user obviously. A tiny huff of a laugh left his lips as he realized how perfectly hilarious it was that he was in _the_ Sherlock Holmes' territory and he was the one making deductions of the man's arch nemesis. 

The man pulled a few files from behind the gun, flipping them open, though he kept the folder portion in the way of Clint's view, leaving him guessing as to what was important enough to keep locked away in a safe inside his office. Not that he couldn't find out later if he so desired. He had the combination and more than enough skills to get past the entire security system on the building, pitiful as it was.

He moved the binoculars away as he settled with his back against the wall again, taking in his surroundings for a moment rather than simply the man he'd been focusing on for days now. Things grew boring after hours of watching someone like this, he had to admit.

Absently, he pushed away from the wall, intent to go take a break given the time and the fact that obviously Moriarty's plans were a bit too obscure to figure out from simple observation. Plan B seemed somehow pertinent, but he would need to be refreshed to implement it. 

Nearly two hours passed between the time in which Agent Barton left the rooftop and the time in which he sat down to review the most recent habits of the criminal. He had to find a pathway that would lead him to infiltration... and given the other man seemed to work relatively alone save for the marksman he already had, it was a bit harder than just showing up and offering his skill set on a silver platter.

He brought up the other's search history he'd gleaned from his laptop and began scrolling through it. The usual criminal shit, the tip-offs that kept people like this on every government agency's watch list like a glaring beacon, flashing red in the darkness of the vast sea of the internet. He bypassed all of that, looking for the smaller things... the normal things. The pieces of search history that told of habits, preferences, desires: the easier places to infiltrate in a situation like this.

And then he found it, a specific site that had been hit like clockwork, twice a week for months. He pulled it up and breathed out a quiet laugh at the contents. Excellence Incorporated, home of the finest male escorts London had to offer. And he'd hit it today just before leaving the office. It was perfect. Clint knew what had to be done and he had no qualms about doing it. God knew it wouldn't be the first time his body had come into play as a piece of his infiltration and he was sure it wouldn't be the last. 

He pulled up the cache of the submission page and read over the requests from the last few times. It was relatively the same, but it seemed the agency never sent the same person in response, so at least he wasn't expecting anyone in particular for his evening. The variety of options ticked off were, perhaps, slightly more on the kinky side of things than Clint had ever gone, but he couldn't object this far into the game... and really, some of them sounded interesting. He memorized the list and then took note of the extra requests section, breathing out a laugh. Apparently he wanted a well-dressed man and some 'sexy' underwear, and above all else someone to both submit and dominate. That sounded right up Barton's ally and even as he took note of the time and the address of the place, plotting out the map of what direction the boy would be coming, he found himself smirking at the idea of this meeting. Natasha would be so proud... infiltrating through something so sensual and _wrong_.

He shut down everything and exited his hotel room, only a few knives on his person as he made his way to the door. He had some shopping to do before nine o'clock found London, that was for damn sure.

Fifteen minutes 'til, he was standing in the shadows on the street corner he knew the escort would have to pass in order to get from where taxis were dropping people off and the entrance to Moriarty's complex. He'd gotten S.H.I.E.L.D. to find out the identity of the guy and give him a picture of who he was looking for. Not that it took much; the instant he saw the other man he knew he'd have known. The guy was young, maybe twenty or so, and he was wearing a cheap suit, obviously unable to afford anything more expensive and the way he walked told he was wearing something incredibly uncomfortable underneath. Amateur. Clint decided right then that he could proceed with the far nicer of the two plans he'd made and he reached out, catching the kid's arm, tugging him into the alley, only a short, "Hey!" coming from the other. Once he had him in the shadows, he pulled out a wad of cash and held it out. "The man you're about to visit will rip you apart if you go. This is your compensation, it's more than he owed you. Walk away. He'll never know the person who's going to show up isn't who the agency sent. You keep your job and your looks."

The kid gave him a slightly terrified look and grasped the money, shoving it into his pocket. He hesitated for a moment and then pulled out a card from his pocket, handing it over. "We always give these. It's not a known fact, but... if you don't have it, he'll know."

Clint took the business card and glanced at it before pocketing it. "Thanks, kid... now go take the night off." With that, he ducked out of the alleyway and headed off toward the building at a quickened pace, slightly behind schedule for having to talk to the guy rather than just beat him over the head and be done with it.

One minute to nine, he stood in front of Moriarty's door. Raising his hand, he knocked on the door, extracting the card from his pocket and waiting quietly as he heard the door being unlatched. As soon as it opened, he extended the card, keeping his head bowed for the moment. The other man's hand came out, taking the card and examining it. He handed it back and Clint slipped it into his pocket as he was allowed into his home. The door was locked again behind him and his elbow was taken, Moriarty guiding him through the living room area to the bedroom.

When he turned around, Moriarty had the Beretta from earlier in his hand, his fingertips nowhere near the trigger, though he stood there with a stance that Clint could only associate with a man who was prepared to kill if necessary. Familiar enough to know how to hold a gun he wasn’t quite intending to use, but not familiar enough to hold it like it was an intimate extension of his own body. This had been in the requests though, so he didn't react, didn't attempt to disarm the other. This was the dominant play for power that a desperate man would indulge in and Clint would allow the scene to go as expected, curious, if nothing else, to understand this portion of the psyche.

As Moriarty raised it, Clint eased himself to his knees, his hands coming up behind his head, fingers interlocking as he kept his head bowed, though his eyes trained on the other man in the most discrete of ways. If it went south, he'd know about it in nothing flat. His breathing was easy, his reactions trained in a manner he normally would have schooled back, but something told him this would turn the other man on more than a scared boy kneeling here would have. The power trip would become irrational, the high gleaned exceptional in comparison. And he was nothing if not correct, one glance at Moriarty's pants telling the full story of just how much it was doing to him. The smallest smirk pulled at Clint's mouth, though he rid himself of it quickly, his own pulse quickening at the idea of what was about to go down. Arousal stirred in his own abdomen and he waited on it, his breathing slowly ramping up.

Eventually, Moriarty closed in on him, the gun's barrel gently caressing Clint's cheek and then sliding over his lower lip, the slight scrape of metal sending delicious coils of heat down through Clint's body. He hadn't expected to be turned on by this part, but here he was, his cock hardening in his pants and his mouth opening to accept the barrel inside in a way that was more than willing... more than an act. This, he wanted. He let out a low moan as the criminal mastermind pushed the gun into his mouth, slowly fucking it in and out. Part of him longed for the thigh holster he usually wore, for the intimate embrace of the straps digging into him as he moved, and he realized this had simply been a long time coming for him. His tongue swirled around the barrel, another noise of pleasure escaping him as the barrel clinked against his teeth, Moriarty pulling it free.

His eyes flicked up to the other as he watched him examine the barrel and then give him a nasty leer in response. It was perverse, oh so wrong, but Clint was certain he'd get off harder to this than he'd gotten off to anything in a long, long time. He shuttered slightly as the saliva-slicked metal slid along his cheek once again, Moriarty leaning down and hissing out, "Open your belt and unbutton..."

Clint followed the instructions quickly, leaving the zipper up because he hadn't been told to touch that and he knew the consequences of not following directions in such a scene would be steep, given the other player wasn't exactly the most moral man on the planet. After all, there had been no safe word, no actual initiation of a 'scene', only the start of the truly depraved things he knew were coming down tonight. But, on that token, he could take care of himself and he was willingly walking into this, probably more so than that poor worker had been. Clint had been through a lot in his life and he was simply thankful none of it had left him with any mental disorders as of yet, though apparently they'd left him with some pretty fucked up sexual appetites. Once he was done with his pants, he put his hands back behind his head, waiting, his eyes on the other man as he paced the rug in front of him. Interesting... even during the moments he should be letting go, he was still incredibly tense, nervous enough to continue to wear a hole in the rug beneath his feet.

Moriarty stopped finally, staring at Clint for a moment before circling around behind him. There were a few seconds of nothing and then the click of the hammer being cocked on the gun. The sound was familiar, intimately so, and he found that it only turned him on more, his cock swelling to full arousal in his dress slacks. He gritted his teeth, closing his eyes finally and giving in to not knowing the entire situation. Foolish, but his desire was more than a little bit in command of him now. His hips jutted forward enough to give him the pressure of his pants against his erection and he breathed out a soft groan. 

"You're enjoying this," Moriarty breathed out behind him, a note of pure awe in his voice. "Not one of you has ever liked this part before."

"Clearly their tastes just didn't meet yours," Clint returned, his voice quiet. He opened his eyes and stared at the opposite wall, finding the glass on the painting there and then recognizing the shapes in the glass as himself and Moriarty, finding the gun wasn't even pointed at him, but held at the other's side, barrel toward the floor. "You could at least point it at me if you're going to cock the damn thing," he spat out, fire burning in his eyes as he spoke the words, waiting on the backlash, finding his adrenaline was already ramping up for a fight.

He wasn't wrong to anticipate how it would affect the other man, not in the least. An instant later, the gun and Moriarty's hand came swinging through the air toward his head. But no... he'd wanted someone but submissive and dominant and this was what Clint wanted out of this situation. He didn't allow the other to hit anything other than his forearm, ensuring it hit in a way that was blocked more than damaging. He rolled out of the way and came up on one knee, lashing out at Moriarty, catching him in the side with a sharp blow.

Furious, the other man spat out a few obscenities and spun on him, his finger on the trigger now, rage clear in his eyes as he raised it on Clint. But that wasn't something he'd simply take, instead, he pulled free the knife he'd kept in his shined up boots and sprang into action, coming up to the side of the other, smacking his wrist and then grabbing a handful of hair, the knife pressed dangerously close to Moriarty's neck. "You wanted someone to switch it up, didn't you? Not a whiny runt who simply submitted. After all, this is your true desire, isn't it? To get as good as you give, to fight for it in the end?" He slid his tongue over the other's face, tasting the salt of his skin as he moaned out his approval into his ear, pressing his hips forward against Moriarty's ass. "I could fuck you... I could bend you over the fucking dresser and drive my cock home until you begged me for fucking mercy. Is that what you want?"

He could feel the way Moriarty's muscles were bunching up, the tenseness of the other mounting under each word he spoke, and he found himself smiling despite it all. This was going to feel amazing no matter who won in the end, he was sure. His hips ground forward, easing the ache of his cock against the other's ass as they stood there, seemingly at a stalemate for the moment. But Clint knew better, he could nearly hear the turning of the cogs within the other's mind as he searched for a way out, as he drew it out enough to try to force Clint to let his guard down. And he knew... he'd have to make it seem like he did eventually. Because as much as he wanted to find out what it was like to plunge his cock into this man's body, he knew it would end the other way around. Moriarty wanted a fight for it, but he wanted to win in the end. That was just a part of the man he was.

Slowly, he allowed himself to relax his hand on the other's neck, his grip on the blade slackening just because he knew it was necessary. At the same time, he made it seem like all he could concentrate on was his dick, his hand leaving the other's hair and coming down to unzip his pants, moving the designer briefs out of the way and freeing his aching length. An instant later, he had his hand on Moriarty's pants, intentionally fumbling open his belt and then his button and zipper, reaching in to grasp the other man's dick, jerking it clumsily. Some part of him was amused at the part he was playing: the desperate, needy fool. He allowed himself to pant in the other's ear as he began to hump himself against the other's ass, pressing him closer by way of holding onto his cock. "You're so hard," he breathed out in Moriarty's ear. 'Your fucking cock is so hard."

And it was then that Moriarty chose to strike. Pain lanced through Clint's wrist and the blade went skittering across the floor. In the next instant, he was stumbling into the low dresser behind him. The force of his impact broke the mirror and habit forced his hand to grab a shard of the glass to use as a weapon, though he caught himself before he revealed it, keeping his hand on the dresser instead, forcing a look of surprise on his face as Moriarty came at him. Enough play... he wanted to get to the main event, particularly if Moriarty kept pointing that Beretta at him the entire time... sliding it along his body and- he cut the thought off as a forceful shudder wracked his body, the ache of his desire nearly driving him mad.

A few seconds passed before the criminal's hand closed around his throat and he closed his eyes, tilting his head back with a breathy sigh, making it obvious he was submitting to the whole thing.

"Say you want my dick" Moriarty hissed out, "tell me you want my prick inside you."

Clint eased himself up on the dresser and spread his legs, pushing his hips up toward the other. "I want your fucking cock buried balls-deep in my asshole. I want you to fuck me until I scream and beg you for mercy, until I am but a quivering mass utterly at your disposal." The words seemed to be enough for Moriarty because in the next instant, Clint was being yanked from the dresser and turned. He was shoved back against it, the air whooshing out from his lungs on impact. He winced and let go of the glass, noting the blood dripping from his fingertips from the improvised weapon. His pants were yanked down to mid-thigh, the underwear briefly caressed and then given the very same treatment. Much to his surprise, the foil from a condom fell on the dresser next to him and he arched his eyebrow at it. He hadn't expected such a thing to be within the play that Moriarty had in mind.

The next part was entirely expected though, the hand on his hip and the press of the gun against the back of his neck, just against his spinal cord. And then... the heat of Moriarty's cock pressing at his entrance. He moaned, bowing his head and spreading his legs to get a better stance. His breath panted out as he arched back toward the other man, begging for it with his actions alone. It certainly wouldn't be the first time he'd ever tried this, but it would be the first time he _craved_ it. He gave a moment's thought to how fucked up it was that he wanted a known criminal's cock buried in his ass, but he cut the thought off after a few moments, knowing it would get him nowhere useful right now. He could evaluate the psychological bullshit of it later.

He let out a sharp cry as Moriarty shoved into him. It stung, but nothing like he'd expected it to. Thankfully the other wasn't giant in that department and Clint had a habit of enjoying at least a finger or two during some of his solo sessions, a few of them fairly recently. He breathed out a moan and then closed his eyes, breathing through it as the other immediately took up pounding into him. It was controlled; each movement forceful and driven, but measured. But slowly... ever so slowly... he could feel the measure of control slipping away from Moriarty's movements. He grew more erratic, frantic... obviously aiming more for pleasure than for control of the situation.

Slowly, Clint shifted himself, easing his body into a position that every thrust burned pleasure through his veins, shock after shock of it slamming into him. He began to cry out, his muscles jerking and his thighs trembling as he allowed himself to fully ease into the situation. "Harder," he growled out, finally, causing the gun to press into the back of his skull instead of his neck, though the other man did pay attention to the request, the sharp staccato of skin-on-skin echoing through the room. "Oh my god, yes!" he bit out, grabbing onto the dresser with his good hand and fucking himself back on Moriarty's cock with each thrust.

Abruptly, he was shoved harshly forward, Moriarty stilling within him and one glance in the remaining parts of the mirror showed the other to the in the throes of his orgasm, mouth slightly open, eyelids closed, head tilted back. "You're cumming," he breathed out, watching the way Moriarty reacted to it, pleased with himself when it seemed to intensify the man's reaction to his own orgasm.

Finally, Moriarty pulled out, the gun dragging along his spine and then disappearing for a moment. The snap of what he could only assume was a second condom met his ears, and then... the barrel of the gun pressed against his entrance. He tensed for a moment, but then relaxed, realizing he wanted this... that he wanted to get to intimately know the Beretta 92FS Inox in a way that one usually only got to know a lover. The gun eased into him and he dropped his head to rest on his forearm, a shiver working its way through him. It felt odd... different from having flesh there... even different from the vibrator he'd once allowed a lover to use on him. This was somehow better than any of that. He could feel the hard angles of the gun stretching his entrance, the slid of it as Moriarty moved it in and out of his hole ramping his arousal higher and higher. He groaned loudly, spreading his legs and pushing his ass up in the air even further. "Feels so good," he admitted, needing to say it out loud.

Moriarty let out a faint rumble of a laugh, though he said nothing more. A few more thrusts and then he could feel the click of the hammer being eased back down ripple through him. The immediate danger gone, Moriarty began to thrust the gun even faster into him, fucking him harder and harder with it as the moments went on, until Clint's body clenched around it and he gasped, his hand squeezing hard at the edge of the dresser as he started to cum. It wasn't expected... anything but. The way it slammed into him was nearly blinding and he found himself falling to his knees, dragging shards of glass with him as he collapsed, his cock spurting all over the dresser as he went down. The last few pulses slid down the shaft of his cock, into his underwear. Sitting there on his knees, the gun still in his ass, Moriarty's arm around his middle, supporting him, Clint did his best to catch his breath.

When he finally eased back down off of it, he leaned forward, resting his head against the edge of the dresser and let out a quiet laugh. "This needs to happen again." The chuckle from behind him seemed to be in agreement and the hand lightly caressing his softening cock only backed that up. The gun slipped from inside him and the condom landed on the floor next to the small puddle he'd made. "Clean up and get out... leave your number on the pad by the telephone." With that, Moriarty left the room, the door slamming behind him.

Even as Clint picked himself up off the floor and attempted to put himself back together, he found that even if he didn't get any information from him... he at least wanted this man's cock again. And more than that, his gun. A shiver slid through him and he filed a mental note to get a bit more acquainted with his own firearm at some point. It was wrong... _oh so fucked up_ , but he had loved every second of it. And in his line of business, who was he to deny such a thing? He saw far more horrible things every single day, prevented as many of them as he could. What was one fetish in the scheme of things?

He wrote his number on the pad of paper and checked himself in the mirror on the back of the door before stepping out and making his way to the front door, completely ignoring Moriarty, who was lounging on his couch, pants still open and a drink in his hand. He simply opened the door and walked out, closing it behind himself. If nothing else, he had, in fact, successfully infiltrated.

**The End**


End file.
